


Schizophrenia

by HK44



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Imagination, Mental Illness, Monsters, Murder, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-11
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 18:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2119521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HK44/pseuds/HK44
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's okay to be a killer. In Thomas' case, he's does what he does for the greater good. So it's okay. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schizophrenia

Padded white walls closed in around Thomas. He was curled up in a corner, giggling like a maniac. His nails dug into the padded floor. White was screaming at him, light flooding every corner of the room in a high intensity display of brightness. His cot was a few feet away. White cloth on white plastic with white straps opened and flung outwards at the end.

Laughter was still tumbling out of him, a broken record of shrieks and giggles. Every so often he broke off abruptly into silence, head bowed as though in deep thought. But as soon as the chills of the sudden silence began to set in, the laughter would immediately start again. The boy’s eyes would widen and his mouth would stretch to inhumane proportions, a shrill eruption of screeching, maniacal cackling.

Unnerving as this was, Mr. Grates, head of the security division, watched Thomas with such an intense gaze that the man beside him, Mr. Gates’ replacement, had a brief thought that the older man was trying to read the young boy’s mind. Lowell Jones, a scrawny man with thick fingers but miniscule hands, tapped the counter nervously. Mr. Gates squinted at Thomas’ screen, frowning. His eyes kept flickering to upper half of the screen.

“Something wrong, Mr. Gates?” Lowell asked.

Mr. Gates, a stout old man with sagging skin, grunted in reply, standing stiffly and gathering his keys. “Feeding time, Jones.”

Lowell’s mousy eyes drifted down to the thick watch on his bird-like wrist. “But… dinner isn’t for another two hours, sir.”

“Not that kind of feeding, Jones.” Mr. Gates pulled a bag out from under the counter and checked its contents hurriedly. He jerked his head to Thomas’ screen. “Dim the lights, Jones.”

Lowell did as told, even though he was confused by the actions mandated. For a short legged man, Mr. Gates walked abnormally fast. Struggling to keep up, Lowell finally reached Mr. Gates and quickly asked him, “What are we doing, sir?”

“Medicating the child, Jones,” Mr. Gates grumbled as he pulled to a stop in front of Thomas’ room. His fingers fumbled while he tried to unlock the door.

With a frown and peer inside the glance, Lowell said, “Just him?”

Yanking the key out of the hole furiously, Mr. Gates searched for the right one. When he located it, he shoved it in the keyhole, answering Lowell’s question at the same time. “This is a private place, Jones. For harder cases, Jones. Every patient have their own nurses and officers, Jones.” Before he turned the key, Mr. Gates looked Lowell in the eye. “And Jones?”

“Yes sir?”

“Never show fear to them, Jones.” He gazed solemnly at the door. “They can tell.”

Lowell gulped. _He didn’t use my last name,_ he thought. _This must be serious._

The door clicked open. Two things happened as the door opened. One, Mr. Gates stepped in, pulling out a syringe and bottle of clear liquid. Two, Thomas threw himself at Mr. Gates while the older man was filling the syringe with the liquid.

They went down easy, Thomas snarling and Mr. Gates gasping, arms flailing. Fear terrorized every inch of Lowell’s body. He backed up before Mr. Gates’ word rang clear in his ears but it was too late. Thomas crept around the gasping man’s body, darkened eyes watching Lowell like a predator stalking his prey.

Mr. Gates was bleeding heavily. Lowell saw why. The syringe he had been filling up was shoved deeply into his throat. Gushing blood was forming at the top of a long gash from the syringe to the middle of Mr. Gates’ chest. Lowell knew he had to get someone, knew he had to get help but Thomas’ persistent gaze frightened him until his back was up against the wall with nowhere else to turn to.

And that appeared to be all Thomas wanted as he drew upwards and smirked. “I’ll leave you alone, fairy,” he drawled, grabbing Mr. Gate’s dropped bag. “You don’t appear to be aware of the inhumane treatments us, prisoners, get on the day to day basis. Honestly. I recommend conversing with a superior about this. An abundant amount of light but far too little feeding times. And the drugs make things perplexing.” Thomas rolled his eyes. “Really, though. Get them some books or something intellectual. I was so bored!”

With those words and a final heft of the bag over a thick shoulder, the ten year old boy strolled out of the room and closed the door behind him. It locked shut. For good measure, Thomas took the keys with him.

The plan had gone accordingly, everything Thomas thought of put into play. He had realized something one day while out on his once a week permitted venture to the outdoors. A boy younger than him had been forced into the prison they were held captive within only a mere week before yet he was strolling out the front doors and into a car.

Conspiracy theories flew into the air from everyone around the grounds yet Thomas was the only one who truly understood. The boy had entered the prison like everyone else had: thin, sickly and near insanity. Now, happily walking out the front doors, he was plump, his skin a nice tanned shade with a wide smile on his fattened face.

Thomas, at once, put together his plan of escape, piecing together timetables of the doctor visits, guard check-ins, drug deposits. He grew fatter, plumply chubby. He smiled more, made pleasant conversation, agreed to what the doctors were saying even if he knew they were brainwashing him. They were, after all, evil fairies resolved to rid him of his knowledge of magic. Never. He’d fake forgetting before he truly did and with that determination in mind, he managed to overcome their so called “medication”.

The only fault in his plans were his parents. He knew that as soon as the evil fairies concluded that he had truly forgotten about them, they’d send for his parents who’d more than likely obsess over him, making his revenge plans wait until he’d forgotten about them. Furthermore, adults didn’t believe in magic and the closeness would make him have to pretend to forget about it as well. Perhaps until he really did forget.

So no. Bouts of insanity for mere moments while the doctors were gone and the brainwashed Mr. Gates was the only one watching him made staying back easier. Mr. Gates was so paranoid. He could constantly hear the old man argue with the doctors outside the door. His death was never in the plan but it was fine. The old bastard was indeed a bastard so his death was a bonus, in fact. Besides, Thomas had killed before. Another death didn’t matter. Especially since there would be a few more before he finally went home and gave it all up.

Thomas travelled quickly down the dimly lit hallway. It was two hours before dinner time. Most nurses would be attending to creating dinner, security officers injecting brainwashing drugs into other knowledgeable kids. He had, maybe, ten minutes before someone could spot him and that was fine. It was only a two minute walk anyway, one minute if he jogged. Which he did.

Stepping into the small security office, he saw his room on the biggest screen there. Mr. Gates was dead and that buffoon with him was still panicking, hands pulling at his hair, terror marking his face. Thomas went to quick work, turning off the sound to the screens and the lights off completely. He undressed himself and pulled on a sweatshirt slung over one of the chairs. It hung to his knees.

Sighing, he searched for the extra pants Mr. Gates had boasted about while on a rant about how he knew and prepared for everything Thomas and any other “crazy” child could come up with. They were stuffed in the man’s lunch bag and Thomas was, for once, pleased with his small stature.

He shoved the lengthier part of the sweatshirt into the pants, grabbed scissors and some rubber bands. With the scissors, he cut a patch of his gown off putting it on his wrist and securing it with rubber bands. A small notch in the left sleeve of the sweatshirt were cut as well, sliding the rest rubber bands up his wrist and the scissors placed carefully under them, on top of the cloth from his gown. He practiced pulling out the scissors from the notch and stabbing an imaginary figured before being satisfied with himself and pulling the hood of the sweatshirt over his head. Just in case his revenge plan took longer than planned he snagged the old man’s and the buffoon’s lunches, shoving it all in one bag.

There was no noise coming from outside the door and no shadows under the doorway to suggest otherwise. He slipped out like wet soap and locked the door then journeyed back down the hallway, following the memorized path to the outside. He unlocked the door, walked out calmly like he’d done it a thousand times before, locked it back again and jumped over the fence barricading them from the rest of the world, acting as though he had simply gone through the front doors.

He was a good actor. _Well, I do excel at most things_ , he thought as he jogged down the pathway, towards the trees.

“Just not at cleaning up,” a voice rang out.

Thomas winced. “It was one mistake, Jamie. A minor commodity. I’ve paid for it and I promised to get rid of the leftovers.”

The dragon floated around his head, rolling his grey eyes. “Well, my young elf, I suppose that’s fine. Though I think I’d rather we have avoided five months of waiting. So many death, Thomas. So many deaths.”

It didn’t need to be said. The underlying tone was there. Words he heard in the back of his mind but couldn’t remember when or where they had been said. He barely remembered who said them.

_Your fault._

_You caused it, Thomas._

_Grow up._

_This is what big boys do._

And at seven years old, Thomas finally understood what big boys did. They grew up. They stopped being the problem. They helped. And he did. In his own way, of course. Jane would never have wanted him to be like anyone else.

Swallowing the frog in his throat, Thomas continued down the pathway. Jane was there, a couple hundred feet down from where Jamie had shown up. Her blue eyes were annoyed as always, her arms crossed, lips pursed in a thin line, ready to ridicule him for his mistakes. He understood why she was annoyed. He understood why she wouldn’t come with his parents to visit him.

It was his punishment. Same how Jamie avoiding him was also a punishment. They were angry at his mistakes. Those pixies and their friends should never have gotten away. But they had, broken free from their restraints and gone. A few days later, while he was staked out in his second cave, unnerved and panicked, Jamie and Jane gone but their yelling still lingering in the air, he’d been found by the evil fairies. Some were disguised as police officers and the rest were just brainwashed humans. He knew the difference, naturally, and only attacked the disguised ones.

One died, her blood splattered on the walls. Thomas was pleased. Evil fairies were always bad to have around. Darker magic and darker minds made for a diabolical combination. He remembered the way her face looked, long hair fluttering out behind her as she fell to the ground, a rock sunk deep into her chest. There was terror on it. And terror was always a good thing when people and other things wanted to kill you left and right.

Jane’s voice, however, was not terrified or fearful. Just irritated. She immediately smacked his head and started on him. “Five months! Five months, you idiot! Do you know how many people have died because of you? No! BECAUSE YOU WERE MISSING FOR FIVE DAMN MONTHS!”

Her rant went on as they walked off the path and into the trees. It included insults about his hygiene, intelligence, personality and common sense, all of which dug Thomas deeper and deeper into his metaphorical pit.

Finally she stopped, arms still crossed in that familiar way, eyes gazing angrily at her little brother. The air around them was silent, save for the rustle of leaves and the creaking trees.

“You’re an idiot, you understand?” she spit out venomously. Thomas nodded hurriedly. “You have to fix this, you know?” Once again Thomas nodded. “Are you going to?” she asked.

Thomas breathed, “Of course. Naturally. It’s a miracle they haven’t mutilated and/or tortured our parents yet. I must eradicate them from our metaphorical equation before they can do so.”

Jane nodded, pleased. Thomas, by default, felt better as a twitchy smile fell over his sister’s face. Jamie flew above them, occasionally dropping down to cite things. Eventually he dropped and floated next to Thomas, sandwiching the ten year old between him and Jane.

The closeness of their bodies uneased Thomas for some reason. He felt on edge. Tension ridged his body all over, stiffness sinking into his muscles in a less than pleasant way. It was like he believed that they were going to attack him. Shaking his head, he reasoned that the drugs obviously worked better on him than he had originally thought. Yet the feeling remained, drowning him in its ungodly hands of discomfort. He glanced up at the two who were arguing intensely with each other. Or was it at him?

No. Jane and Jamie loved and respected Thomas. They never shouted at him.

After a few hours, Jane had left to go home as night had finally set in. Sprinkles of star glittered in the purple-black sky. Thomas stood at a ridge and overlooked the mossy ground below. Scattered dead leaves rustled and glistening dew drops gushed out water with every step he took. Finally he saw it. With a low grumble of approval from Jamie, he set off to a cluster of trees and pushed his way through the branches.

Running his hands through his frazzled hair, pushing out bark and sticky leaves, he stared at the home he’d built months before just for instances like this. The cave was cool but warm, the main reason it was his first cave. He’d rather be comfortable instead of the evils he brought to the second cave, the murder cave.

A broken bench with a blue blanket spread out over it was placed neatly in a corner. A few books were stacked neatly underneath the bench and a sloping mirror was hung on the wall, reflecting Jamie and Thomas as they entered in slow. Water dripped from the ceiling to the tiny pool below, miniscule fish streaming around, welcoming their master home. A bird cooed from its perch above. Thomas’ eyes glazed over in an understandable happiness.

He was home.

The lunch bag of food and supplies sailed in an arc in the air, landing with an oomph next to the bench. Jamie floated around, talking lowly with the bird as it twittered reports of the past months to him. The fish crowded around an edge of the pool. Thomas bent over to them and swirled in fingers in the cold water. The fish nipped affectionately at the digit before swimming off, probably to report his return to the water creatures that lived only a stream and a lake away.

Aching muscles relaxed against the plastic bench. He threaded his fingers together and gazed at the ceiling, markings of past missions, past adventures, past fun staring down at him. His world was split right down the middle, the world he loved and the world he lived in.

In truth, he cared for both worlds but the world he loved, the world he had to hide, was beautiful, magical, enchanting. Nymphs shimmered their pallid green skin against the cool turquoise tones of the lakes and oceans as they swam alongside him and the mermaids saved him, powerful dancing fins pushing against the currents of the waves when he went too deep.

Then there were the fairies that fluttered and danced and sang, giggling all the while as their tiny fragile glass-like wings slapped against one another. They moved too fast for the human eye to see but he, oh, he was allowed their world, as few were allowed. And fairies were not as small as the average human had so believed. No. They were imbedded with deep magic that allowed them to change size at will. He had learned the tricks of the trade within in his training days alongside Jamie.

Jamie taught him many things. How to detect a true magician. What a witch actually looked like. How to capture a fairy. How to detect the evils lurking within the shadowed magic world.

Jamie always taught him new things… always…

Before he knew it, his mind was trailing back to days gone by, days he could barely remember. Through the haze of these memories, he saw a man. The man was young, early twenties, late teens. The man wore a dragon shirt. The dragon looked like Jamie, green scales blending into a red underbelly and everything from the awkward bend of his tail to the sharpness of his teeth.

He was good looking young man. A shaven face matched with slicked backed blonde hair and clear skin. His eyes were brown and wise, seemingly holding the answers to all life’s questions. He was laughing at something then on his back, pulling Thomas -, a younger, much smaller version of him obviously, this was a past memory, of course - onto his lap. Something dangerous seemed to be happening and suddenly he was looking at the picture of the dragon and that’s he could see until Jamie yelled, “Elf!” and snapped him out of it.

Instinctively his hands moved to his pointed ears, tipped sharp like the elves he had met before. He stubbly short like them as well, well rounded along the waist too. The only difference was the spikiness of his hair, the strange way it stuck up in the back. Elves had straight hair. Always straight and smooth. He fingered the tip of his ears in an obsessive kind of way, glancing at Jamie with an irritated gaze.

“Yes?”

Jamie smirked, sharp teeth peeking out from under his scaly skin, ears twitching in anticipation. “Shall we plan or do you wish to hide in fear forever?”

Thomas snarled. He was no coward! He was a warrior! And some day everyone would see that and marvel in his magnificence! He grabbed the sword strapped to the side of the bench, the side pressed up against the wall where no could see it, and swung his arm outwards, a swish heard echoing in the silent air as metal flashed. On an unheard cue, a rush of air billowed his hair and clothes backwards, his eyes shone with preparation and malicious need.

“Let’s get to work.”  


The planning took a whole of three days to complete and put into final action. Jane showed up sparsely throughout each day, criticizing pathetic parts and humming approval at the better sections. She argued with Jamie all the time, eventually causing Thomas to turn away as he thought to himself in imagine silence. Their voices were like crashing waves, slamming his head against the rocky shore.

Some of the things they said didn’t even make sense. Jane never hit him with anything than loving intent and what was she talking? Jamie would never hurt him like that. Jamie loved him. They both did. When they finally realized that and stopped coming up with selfish lies maybe the three of them could live in some sort of harmony, finally.

Brushing his bangs out of his eyes, he pulled tighter on the rope that strapped his sword to his waist. He pulled on a trench coat, the hood over his eyes, when he walked towards the arguing pair. The morning light streamed on him. He gave a chilling smile unfitting that of ten year old boy.

“Time to go,” he murmured.

Jane disappeared on the way to the road as usual, needing to go get the car she had driven to get there. Jamie was quiet, his clawed hands pushing trees and branches out of Thomas’ way. The silence was thick, broken only by the crunching sounds of dead leaves and twigs under their feet and the swirling winds moaning.

Then they got to the road. It was nearly noon. Thomas’ stomach grumbled but he cast his eyes through the bush he was crouched behind, searching for the escaped fairies he knew lived here. Jamie hummed loudly and scratched Thomas’ head affectionately.

“You’re doing well, young elf,” he crooned. “Just a little while longer and you’ll have your prize.”

Thomas smiled then frowned. Those words, they seemed familiar. From a different scene, a different time. A prize. Something liquid. Something white. With a salty, bitter yet tangy and memorable taste to it.

He screwed up his face, so caught into his thoughts, he almost missed the boys and girls skittering down the sidewalk.

“The fairies,” he squawked and fell backwards, heart beating in rush of panic. “Goddamnit! Where the Hell is she?”

A slap to the back of the head signaled the return of his beloved sister. “I’m here, moron. And don’t swear. It’s rude.”

He grumbled and rubbed the back of his head before stalking back into the trees, following the other children with a hungry gleam in his eyes. The children laughed and giggled, stumbling into a pathway that would lead to the lake where the merpeople lie.

One girl, Helen was her name if Thomas’ memory served him correctly, was wearing a skintight bathing suit. She was the only human in the group, however she had indirectly led to his imprisonment so as pitiful and mindless as she was, she’d have to go. It was for the best. Eliminate all the leftovers. And unfortunately, she was one of them.

The other children, Matthew, Liz, Graham, Rose and Ian, were all fairies. Evil ones, of course. They had tricked the girl, Helen, into doing illegal things with them, tricked her and blackmailed her, going against the law of humans and fairies alike. They were diabolical. And it was his job to eradicate their villainous ways from the essence of the world. It would also be his last job for a while. He had seen enough destruction and murder to last him until the end of his schooling days.

After all, what sane ten year old child gets a 99% on an English test five years advanced? Jane was furious, a hair spitting anger. She punished him of course. Though, now that he thought about it, it seemed the memory was blocked from his mind. No matter how hard he searched for it, it wouldn’t come.

“This is no time for lollygagging,” Jamie scolded. “We must terminate the vermin fairies before they bring down our worlds.” Thomas nodded, shaking his thoughts from his mind and focusing back on the task at hand. “Keep your lips sealed and your head down, young elf.”

Again with the familiar weird wording! What was with him today? Familiar words but bare to no memory? He would never go back to that institution again. They were the reason he was going insane with thinking, clearly. Those stupid sprites messed up his range of thinking when they thought it funny to pump his system full of brainwashing drugs.

With rage fueling his mind, adrenaline sped through every cell in his body. Tree branches bowed before him as he followed the children neurotically. It was an excessive need to take revenge for the months he had spent in that prison cell. Wasteful days spent doing nothing but extensive neurological research and endless tests to evaluate his supposed disturbed psyche. He was fine. To prove it, he’d kill the ones who forced him into imprisonment.

Two hours later, Thomas was staked out in the high branches of a tree. He watched the children impatiently. Matthew gave a Tarzan yell before plummeting into the icy water of the lake. Helen and Ian dived in after him. Graham relaxed on a towel under the shade of a large oak tree and Liz, supplied by her sister Rose, appeared to be setting up a campfire with the use of a mini grill, fishing poles and line already stationed by the lake.

Fingers curled into fists, Thomas huffed annoyed. Graham was the closest to him and luckily the farthest away from the others. Unluckily he was the biggest and would take longer to terminate should a struggle arise which was unfortunate since a struggle could grasp the eyes of his friends and Thomas did not want that. He didn’t have time to get a gun.

Swinging his body backwards, he caught another tree branch, lowering himself to the ground. The sword strapped at his side whispered, begged, called out to him. It made a clinking sound as he pulled it from its case.

Jamie’s breath was warm against his ear and something about it made him shiver in terror. “You can do it, Tommy. I know you can. Just keep quiet.”

Tommy? But before he could say anything, Jane pushed him roughly forward. He tumbled, head over heels, managing to stop himself before he got too close to the target. Graham’s cropped hair looked like tiny needles sticking up from his scalp and the comparison almost made Thomas laugh.

He crept slow, a snake among the long grass. Graham glanced once behind him but brushed off the noise and feeling after nothing worrisome revealed itself. Oh, how silly he was. Thomas smirked and ran him through, right through the heart, a small hand clasped over the other boy’s mouth to keep his death quiet. The overgrown body squelched deliciously as he pulled the sword out.

His beautiful sword, tainted with the blood that made it stronger with every kill. It had taken so much effort to steal it from the museum that had taken it from the fairy people. Its first kill in centuries was the museum curator, a simple slash along the throat. Oh, how glorious it had been, reveling in power unimaginable. But now he had it and after five months of longing, the sword would kill again, slaughtering the devilish fairies that had forced its temporary retirement.

Ducking back among the trees, Thomas left Graham, face down in the grass, part of the towel pulled over his back. Thomas grinned at his mastery and glanced over to the rest of them. _Oblivious fools,_ he thought. _Oh, how pathetic you all are! I will destroy you all! I will mutilate their skin until nothing is left remaining! I will torture them until they beg in SCREAMING MERCY! I WILL ANNIHILATE THEM!_

The rage in Thomas’ soul made his eyes light up in fury. Jamie smiled long, head tilted, eyes sliding closed in smirked approval. Jane was giggling. They both leaned close to Thomas and whispered, “Kill them.”

Thomas nodded. Of course he’d kill them. It’s what he had to do. It’s what Jane and Jamie wanted. And he’d do anything to please them. Keep quiet. Take the pain. Everything’s fine. He was fine. He is fine. The world still spins and everything was and will forever be okay.

The next few moments were excruciatingly slow. Thomas watched the others with a starved look on his face, pupils blown wide and his fingers growing pale as he clutched the sword to his side, stroking the hilt obsessively. Jamie was snarling, one clawed hand laid on the back Thomas’ neck, the other gripped around the small boy’ shoulder, digging nails that cut and bled into the weak flesh. Jane was gripping Thomas’s wrist in a bruising manner as he tried to throw himself at the children.

He wanted to rip them to shreds, tear off their heads, break their bones, hear them scream. Ideas of torture spun around in his mind like a hurricane. The need for their blood splattered against the grass, the shimmer of red contrasting the dull green blades, clouded his soul. He needed their screams to fill the silent air, unmerciful laughter accompanying it in the most horrific manner.

He craved these desires and nothing was going to stop him from getting what he wanted. Pale eyes closed as an inhuman wicked grin spread wide over the boy’s pale skin. His sword called out to him, pleaded, begged, whispered to him. It moaned its thirst for blood and Thomas listened mutely, rolling the hilt around in his palm.

“It’ll be only a while,” he murmured, eyes like that of a speared fish reflected in the blade. “Then you feast and I win.”

The sword shuddered its delight and cried out with desperate longing. In that moment a few things happened. The first was that Matthew stumbled out of the water to watch the food while the others went swimming instead. Matthew, too small and missing an arm, was an easy target. He rarely spoke. When Thomas had cut his arm off months before, the other boy hadn’t even uttered a squeak. Instead he crumbled to the ground and fell into the land of dreams in one simple act. He’d be easy prey.

The second event was Helen’s wandering off to another path to collect berries. Perfect. She was the fastest runner Thomas had ever met. If she saw him killing her “friends”, she’d run off and he’d be imprisoned again.

The third event was that Ian had been blindfolded in order for them to play Marco Polo, which was a good thing as Rose had awful eyesight, wearing specially made thick-rimmed glasses. Unfortunately for her, and coincidentally fortunate for Thomas, the glasses were custom made and she had no goggles for the type of lenses they used.

Matthew was too weak to run, Helen was gone, Ian and Rose were blind. Liz was the only one left, shaking out her blonde hair while she stepped into the water. She glanced around a few times, spotting Graham “sleeping” in the grass.

Smirking, she put her hands on her hips and leant forward, black hair sliding off her shoulders. “Graham!” she called. “Graham!”

He didn’t respond. Frowning she yelled his name again.

“Graham! Do you want to play Marco Polo or what?” she hollered.

Slinking out in slow motion while Liz rolled her eyes and headed over to Graham, Thomas grinned cruelly. For once an appreciation for Liz’s stubborn attitude spread over him. When they had been friends, before he had discovered their evil intentions, she had always forced people to engage in activities with her, whether they had wanted to or not.

Liz drooped over Graham’s body, frowning as she pulled back the blanket covering him. With a quick dart, Thomas drove his sword through her chest in one smooth fluid motion. His hands grabbed the back of her neck as she fell, mouth gaped open as though she was trying to protest against her death.

He laid her down in the grass, slowly, eyes darting around him. Matthew didn’t even bat an eye in Thomas’ direction, too busy gazing at the back of gray box while he prodded a pack of frozen sausages with a pair of tongs. Thomas flew back into the trees, body easing in and out of branches. With the dexterity and determination of a predator, he stalked his new prey.

The scrawny boy suddenly whizzed around, squinted at the trees where Thomas was hidden then shook his head. He went back to prodding the packages, nerves flaring dangerously, though he tried to shake it off. Perhaps if he had looked higher, he would’ve seen the dangerous ex-friend who had sliced his arm off without a second thought and without remorse. But Matthew, the foolish boy, never looked higher than his own height.

Thomas jumped out of the trees and pushed Matthew done. As assumed, the boy said nothing. He didn’t even scream as Thomas forced Matthew’s face into the grill. The boy kept silent, thrashing around, emitting tiny grunts of pain.

Growling low under his breath, Thomas stabbed Matthew’s leg through to the ground, pinning the boy to the earth below his flailing body. Still he said nothing. Thomas briefly entertained the thought that Matthew’s nerves were dead before digging his face deeper into the grill, reveling in the scent of burning flesh. Its horrific odor stained the air in a vomit-inducing stench but Thomas inhaled it all as though he couldn’t get enough.

While Thomas was busy luxuriating in the scent, Matthew gave a powerful buck and nearly knocked the tiny child off his back. Thomas swore and yanked out his sword from Matthew’s leg and the ground, slicing off Matthew’s head swiftly before the other could even regain control of his arms.

His sword hummed, pleased. It swung in arc towards the two in the water. Thomas smiled, drawing the blade to his face, swiping a long line up the dripping blood with his tongue. Sweet heavenly tastes exploded in the back of his mind. With a newly developed starvation, he ran to the lake. Ian pressed his back against the edge of the lake, jumping when a fish swam up his shorts.

“Marco,” he said.

Rose, who had dived somewhere off to the left of him, drifted back up just in time to watch Thomas (though he looked like an awkward blur to her) stab her friend in the shoulder. Screeching in terror, Rose squinted and struggled to find her way to the edge of lake.

Ian collapsed to the water, pain flaming along his shoulder. He reached up to wrench the blindfold off only to scream when another flaming sensation of pain ricocheted from his wrist. He swallowed gallons of water. His lungs felt crushed, the water impaling them like icicle daggers. No air, no oxygen, nothing but endless water. He couldn’t breathe. His ability to swim was hindered with an injured shoulder and a missing hand. The weight of the water seemed to be getting heavier every second.

Then a blinding pain erupted in his stomach. He screamed, inhaling gallons of water, too much to compensate for. His body fell slack, body floating suddenly weightless in the water.

Thomas smiled brilliantly and kicked his way up to the surface as Ian fell, dead, to the sandy floor below, a fleshy snack for the fish. Rose was still struggling, blindly following a path that was leading her straight to him. He snickered under his breath and readied his stance, ducking his head under the water as she grew closer and closer and closer. He could almost taste her blood on his tongue. Sword held to his side, he watched her feet kick to him with an obsessive hunger.

Fighting while in water was complicated but not so difficult for him. He had bested more than enough men. Water could not stop him from killing these people, these _monsters._ They were destructively evil fairies. Their villainous minds clouded him from seeing what was truly there for so long.

He was going to annihilate every last one of them.

With a yell he yanked his arm up from out of the water and stabbed Rose in the throat. Blood pooled instantly. She gurgled, flopping uselessly, deadweight, around the water. Her rich red blood stained the clear visage of the cool water of the lake. It trickled over Thomas’ arms while he pulled out the sword with a squelching squish. Her body fell down into the red clouded depths below.

He grinned wide and wicked then paddled to the land, the grass that was beginning to stain red with trickling blood. He stood on the ground, dripping wet with water and blood-stained clothing. He clasped a hand over his mouth for a moment, dropped it and laughed, loud and maniacal.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

In the event that she had heard the screech from Rose only moments earlier, Helen had run back to the clearing in a panic. She had feared this as soon as she’d found out Thomas had escaped from the hospital. With nerves pounding her veins, she stumbled into the clearing, watching in frozen shock as a boy she once called a friend murdered her friend without a single flash of remorse. Then she watched him laugh. He was so carefree, so full of life. Sounds of shrieking shrills erupted from his mouth. It scared her, weakened her knees and made her collapse to the ground below.

Then he went quiet. She glanced up, fearful. He was watching her, head cocked partially in her direction, partially in the direction towards the trees. _Victims often hear voices or visual figures that tell them what to do,_ she recited in her head bitterly. Thomas’ head snapped to her, eyes narrowing sharply as if he had heard her thoughts.

She tried to stand but he was faster, sprinting over to her like a bullet. Thomas kneed her in the throat. Her breath caught. She fell back down, gripping her neck in pain. He grabbed her by the hair and pulled her head up, tapping one cheek with the side of his sword. It reflected silver into her eyes. She closed them and prayed.

“Thomas,” she pleaded, breathless. “Please. Why are you doing this?”

He was quiet for a moment. She imagined his face the way it used to be when he thought, when he had been okay. She was hit by a sudden thought. What if he wasn’t okay then? What if he had never been? A tear slid hot from her eye down her cheeks and dripped to the earthy ground below.

“You let yourself be corrupted. You let them take me even after I explained,” he finally said. “And you saw what I’ve done. I have to kill you. I’m not going back there.”

She squinted at him. He seemed to be struggling to compose himself. In truth, Thomas was suffering, on the inside. Jamie was at his right side, whispering, no, screaming at him to get it over with. Jane was on the other side, yelling too. He shook and cut Helen’s face. She winced.

“Thomas, you weren’t okay, remember?” She struggled to stop from screaming. Thomas was trailing the sword lightly over her exposed throat. A bead of blood formed, ruby red and shining. “Jamie and Jane. They did bad things to you. Screwed you up.”

His eyes darkened and his face set. “You’re a liar.”

She refrained from shaking her head. “No, I’m not. Jane used to hit you. All the time. With a belt or something. And Jamie-”

“SHE WAS A MONSTER, A FAKE!” Thomas yelled.

“-Jamie, Jamie _raped_ you. Every time he came over to your house to babysit you. You told me. After you killed them.”

“Those were monsters,” Thomas snarled. “And so are you.”

The image of her ex-friend bringing a sword against her and those words echoing around her mind were the last things Helen ever encountered. She didn’t grow up like she had planned. She never had the wedding she had idealized for years. She never saw her baby or watched her child take their first steps. She didn’t get to see her mother’s funeral or watch her father turning grieving into a hobby. She didn’t get to do any of that.

She died.

And that was all.

Jamie poked her body with his tail, smiling at the red smile that marked her throat. “Nicely done,” he approved, clapping Thomas’ shoulder.

Thomas stared at the girl he once knew as a friend. He swallowed thickly then turned away and stumbled off. He grabbed their blankets and one by one, dumped each dead body in the lake. He wasn’t going to leave a trace behind this time.

The sun was setting by the time he made it back to his cave, attaching his sword to its holster on the wall. He laid out their picnic baskets and food and smiled lowly. Jane sat beside him.

“What’s wrong, goofhead?”

He twirled around a piece of dried apple. “It’s just a shame that she had to die. She was only human.”

“It’s always a shame,” Jamie commented. His wings stretched out and he yawned. Jane stood up.

“Time to go, Thomas.” She kissed her brother’s forehead and walked off. “Be back tomorrow, alright?”

He nodded and watched the two of them leave. Darkness crept on to the cave quickly after their shadows had disappeared from view. His sword hummed in anticipation of the new day from its place on the wall. He ate the food briskly until he was full and laid on the bench, curling on to his side as he pretended that nothing was wrong.

It’s a shame he was crazy. He was only human.

Just like everyone else.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I portrayed a person with schizophrenia properly and I apologize if I had offended anybody.


End file.
